i come apart

Dear readers/followers/friends,

Where have I been?

Around.

Away.

Here.

I haven’t been myself, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to return to it. It’s a complicated situation of instability and stress and an overwhelming sense of self-loathing that resulted in a terrifying night of horrifying ‘what-ifs’ and ‘end-of-problems’. 

I went off that one night on my own. Into the city with my longboard and a notebook and very little else. I went as far as I could, with the memory from a friend of a peculiar and peaceful bridge over water downtown from campus.

I found it in the darkness.

I took off my shoes.

I placed my longboard aside.

And I climbed over the railing onto the ledge.

I stood there.

I waited.

Beneath the bridge, the water rushed like blood in my veins; black like the pelt of a panther but so frighteningly soothing in its madness.

The longer I stared down into it, the more I wanted to jump.

I had one hand off the railing and my toes peeking over the edge.

It was cold.

I hate the cold, but that night, I reveled in it. 

Who knows how long I stood there like that - honestly now it seems like a blur to me. 

Eventually a couple came by; I’d calmly climbed back over the railings to safety and slid my shoes back onto my feet.

My toes were numb, it didn’t matter.

The woman eyed me, concerned, afraid. “Are you alright? What were you doing?”

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” the man accused me. “You could’ve fallen.”

I’d smiled at them, thin and grim, as I picked up my longboard and tucked it under my arm. 

“I’m okay.” It was a familiar lie. “I wouldn’t have fallen…” I turned away from them; dropped my longboard to the bridge floor and stepped onto it’s rough surface.

“I would’ve jumped.”